


The Point

by dettiot



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Bottom line is, even if you see 'em coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does.</i>  Just how did Buffy become the Slayer we see in The Wish?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Bottom line is, even if you see 'em coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does._

***

_Buffy Summers looked like a typical teenager. She acted like one. She went to school, talked to her friends, ate dinner, and slept like any average American girl._

_So I guess I don't need to bore you with an 'appearances are deceiving' spiel, do I?_

_See, I've always kept my eye on this girl. She's about to learn some unexpected things about herself, and she's got some choices to make. Every time you make a decision, the universe creates the situation you didn't choose. So while you're living your life with Mike as your boyfriend, there's a reality where you chose Mark._

_Buffy, being who she is, thinks she's always made the right decision when it really mattered. And for the most part, the kid's right. One of the advantages of being the Slayer--you're more in tune with causalities._

_I can almost hear what you're saying now: "So if she's living the right life, what's your point?"_

_My point is, there's no right life. No wrong one, either--just different ones. Haven't you ever wondered what if? What would have happened if I hadn't run that red light? Who would I be if I'd skipped class that day? Where would I have gone if I hadn't slept in that day?_

_The Chosen One got a glimpse of this thanks to Anyanka's hijinks. There was this nibble in the back of her mind, something that really only came out in her dreams. JonathanWorld made her really think about that question for the first time in a while. She couldn't help asking herself, how did I become that person in that world?_

_She's about to find out--thanks to yours truly and a little magical mix-up._

***

"Still, it's freaky, you know? The idea that this could be just as fake as Jonathan's world," Buffy said, taking her place against Riley, feeling his solid muscles supporting her.

"Not fake--just alternate realities," Willow said, pointing her finger at Buffy. "For every action you take, there's a universe for the opposite action. But each universe is just as real as another."

"Thus allowing one of the most common plots in the science-fiction genre: seeing one of those wacky alternate realities," Xander commented.

"I miss the days when people trembled in fear when they were exposed to where their choices could lead them. By the time the 1950s rolled around, it was less, 'Oh, evil goddess, stop torturing me with these visions of hell!' and more, 'Oh, look! In this world, London has zeppelins!'" Anya snorted, a frown on her face.

"Although how could that compare to the world without shrimp?" Buffy asked, grinning.

"Oh, no, that's the same world. It's called Pete's World, by the way. Just so you know," Anya said matter-of-factly, as if this was an important piece of knowledge she was sharing.

"Anyway," Riley said, changing the subject. "I'm just glad we're all back to normal."

Buffy nodded. "Nice, normal world, right here. Complete with your friendly neighborhood vampire slayer."

"I gotta say, I never knew reshaping the universe was so easy. I mean, if Jonathan can pull it off . . ." Willow's voice trailed off, and Buffy noticed that mad scientist gleam in her eyes.

"Will? We all seemed to be in agreement that what Jonathan did was bad, right?"

"Oh, posilutely! I'm just saying, though . . . I mean, remember last year, when there was that vampire version of me? Didn't you ever wonder how'd I ended up that way? Or why you never came to Sunnydale?"

"Actually, I'm wonder-free," Buffy said dryly.

"We shouldn't know too much about alternate universes," Tara said quietly. "It disrupts the natural rhythms of life."

"Yeah, Will--it's fine for Star Trek and all, but I'm not one for thinking too much about all those realities out there. And I'm speaking as the guy with the ultra-cool albeit vampire counterpart," Xander said.

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Willow said, looking around the circle of friends clustered around her. "Sheesh, can't even have a little theoretical physics discussion without some people trying to make it all practical . . ."

"That's because none of us can talk about theoretical physics," Riley said, and everyone laughed while Willow pouted.

With that, the discussion moved on to other topics, other adventures. Life was back to normal in Sunnydale: it was protected by the Slayer and her friends, and although it wasn't as safe as your town might be, it was safer than the alternative.

***

_Me again. I don't suppose I have to tell you what little Miss No Formal Witchcraft Training did next, do I? I swear, if the American Cabinet of Magic was as together as its British counterpart, you'd never have seen Willow Rosenberg get in touch with her inner Voldemort._

_But I digress. So Willow went home, and before her memories of the whole event faded-because Tara was right, rhythms get wrong when realities cross-she wrote out the theory stuff, and made notes on what sorts of spells would get her the results she was looking for._

_So Willow got to working, and using that big, curious brain of hers, she hit upon the right spell. Well, almost the right spell. She missed the part where the spell would only work on someone else--specifically, the one favored by Destiny and chosen by the Gods._

_Three guesses who that is, and the first two don't count._

_So Willow casts her spell, expecting to find out how her alternate self was so evil and skanky, not to mention a vampire. But nothing happened to her. No puff of smoke, no freaky visions, nada, zilch, zip. She guessed it didn't work, so she just gave a shrug, cleaned up her supplies, and went to the library._

_But Buffy? Well, let's just say it's a good thing she was in the training room at the Magic Box, so that when she passed out, at least she was someplace private, someplace with padded floors to cushion her fall. Someplace where people could watch out for her, as she laid unconscious, occasionally twitching and moaning. See, she's just a passenger, like she's riding shotgun in that alternate Buffy's head. So there's a bit of distance there, but there's also a lot of emotions. And sometimes, it's too much for her to handle._

_What? I'm rambling, you say? Well, excuse me for giving you a little background color. What do you say we dive right into the main event, with a minimum of distractions from me? Would that make you happy?_

_Okay, okay, it's starting. Hope you fastened those seat belts . . ._

***

Buffy Summers looked like a typical teenager . . . if you didn't look too closely. She had more bruises than you'd expect, even from the number three high school gymnast in Southern California. Even stranger, though, was the way those injuries seemed to heal up so quickly. She spent more time in the principal's office than a tiny blonde should. And to top it all off, it looked like she spent most of her free time with an elderly man, walking around in cemeteries after dark.

It had long ago been decided at Hemery High that Buffy Summers, once one of the most popular girls in school, had sadly fallen victim to an incurable disease: complete loserdom. The traits that had been complimented--the way she stood up for her friends, her energy, her cheerleading skills--were now mocked. Not to her face, mind you, since people whispered that she could bring more pain than you'd think possible if you crossed her. But everyone knew to give her a wide berth, else be affected by the same disease. 

The girl herself, though, could care less. Buffy knew she'd fallen far in the eyes of her classmates. She hadn't been one of her school's It Girls just because she looked good in a cheerleading skirt. No, Buffy was smart, and she knew that being the Slayer and being the same old Buffy were not two great tastes that tasted great together. And yeah, it sucked to have no friends, and to patrol rather than shop.

But really, could she live with the alternative? Ignore her duty, ignore the responsibility that had been thrust upon her? She had thought about it, that day when Merrick had appeared. She had nearly told him to go find another girl. But something had made her stay quiet, and now? Well, she knew too much now. Knew the consequences if she didn't do her duty.

Still, she wished she hadn't had to eliminate the majority of her cute outfits from her wardrobe, due to their unfortunate tendency to reveal more than sun-kissed skin. With the way things were going at home, she didn't want her school thinking her parents were the ones giving her the bruises, the cuts, the gaping wounds.

So she had settled for her life being like this right now. She was Buffy Summers, new vampire slayer, in khaki capris and a short-sleeved t-shirt. And she had to admit, it wasn't all bad. Sure, her friends had stopped calling her, and guys stopped asking her out, and she had been kicked off the cheerleading team . . . okay, no, all that sucked. But with everything else going on, with all the training and with Lothos getting closer and closer to a big attack, she hadn't had time to wallow.

At least she had things to focus on during training, when Merrick wanted her to put more force behind her blows.

"That's it . . . very good!" Merrick said, watching her form. "Straighten that arm . . . yes, very good. I believe that will be all for today, Buffy."

Buffy started unwrapping the tape from her hands. "Good--Mom told me to be home early tonight. She's got something she wanted to tell me."

Merrick nodded. "Has she begun divorce proceedings, then?"

"Yeah," Buffy said slowly. "I don't know how to feel about it."

"It's to be expected. It's a difficult time for you, I know," Merrick said, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. "And I fear things might get worse."

"Worse than Lothos, you mean?" Buffy asked with a raised eyebrow.

Merrick stepped away, busying himself with picking up the weapons they had been using. "There is the possibility . . . that the Watcher's Council would need you to relocate. There are two locations that could require the services of a Slayer, and when it is decided where, I would need to take custody of you and transport you to that location."

"Um, okay . . . not loving the idea of a move, Merrick."

"I can understand that, Buffy, but your skills are vitally needed."

"You didn't have to go right for the guilt trip, Merrick. Where are we talking?"

"The first is Cleveland, Ohio. The other, and the spot that I feel will be the final selection, is Sunnydale, a few hours north of here."

"Well, definitely liking Door Number Two better," Buffy said, reaching for her water bottle and taking a sip.

"Indeed," Merrick said. "I wouldn't claim that Cleveland is in dire straits at the moment, but there are many reasons for Sunnydale to be your assignment. Plus, it would allow you to see your mother occasionally. Interestingly enough, Sunnydale is located on top of--" 

"Wait a minute," Buffy interrupted. "See my mother occasionally? What does that mean?"

Merrick's expression grew even more solemn, if that was possible. "Buffy, your mother would not be coming with you. You must realize, it is highly unusual that a Slayer stays with her family once her initial training period is over. Generally, the Slayer becomes a ward of the Council, sent with her Watcher to the location or locations she is most needed. In fact, you're the first Slayer to be allowed to remain with her family for such a long period. Due to the upheaval in your life, it was felt that it was . . . easier to wait, to make you aware of this."

"Easier for everyone but the Slayer, I'm guessing?" Buffy asked angrily. Merrick tried to speak, but Buffy moved away from him. "Because I'm the Slayer, my whole life has changed. And meanwhile, my parents are getting divorced, and my friends no longer exist. And now you're telling me I have to become Slay Barbie for the Watcher's Council? I don't think so," she said, scooping up her purse and her jacket. "I don't care where I end up, but I am not going without my mother. Either the Council figures out a way for her to come with me, or I'll tell her what's been going on with me. And trust me," Buffy said, pointing a finger at her Watcher, "She will be even less happy than I am right now."

With that, she stomped out, heading for home with her heart in her throat and her stomach full of butterflies.

***

_Interesting, isn't it? Still seems a lot like our Buffy, doesn't she? I bet you're wondering what turns her into the Slayer with the oh-so-charming personality, the one that shows up in Sunnydale via Cleveland only three years later?_

_Well, it's a long story. There's one or two reasons, but to paraphrase that fellow Parker, this story, like any worth telling, is about a boy._

***

Buffy always ran as if her life depended on it.

In fact, right now, it did.

Merrick was dead, and she was flying blind. Sure, Lothos was taken care of, but that was just exchanging one big problem for a lot of little problems. All his followers, his lackeys and quasi-allies, were now coming out of the woodwork, trying to grab a piece of the pie for themselves. And whereas Lothos had a certain code of ethics (which was just lame, you know? Vampires should be all about breaking the rules!), these new guys could care less about the rules.

As Merrick had predicted, she had been assigned to Sunnydale, and the Council had arranged some great job offer for her mom. It had looked like things were going to work out. The plan had been for her mom and her to move in late August and arrive in time for the start of the school year.

With Merrick gone, she didn't know if that was still the plan. She tried everything she could think of, but she hadn't gotten any word yet from the Council. So she had kept up patrols, stayed in training. It seemed like every night she was staking more vamps, but they kept coming. She felt like she was losing control.

And then, one night, she came home to find the door to her house ajar. And inside, there were signs of a struggle. As Buffy walked through the house, she felt a numbness settle over her. Finding her mother's body, covered with bite marks, was almost an afterthought. She had known what had happened from the moment she had seen that half-open door.

In a fog, she picked up the phone, meaning to call 911. But then she realized that she couldn't do that. How could she explain this? And what if her mother had been turned? That thought was almost enough to make her break. She could feel the tears starting to well up, her throat closing up. But somehow, she managed to push it all down. 

Buffy bent down, and kissed her mother's cheek. "Goodbye, Mommy. I love you." She reached out with a steady hand and closed her mother's eyelids. 

When she stood up, she didn't feel like Buffy anymore. She walked upstairs and threw some clothes in a bag and added stakes and holy water on top. She picked up the little wooden cross her father had gotten her in Mexico and put it around her neck. She went back downstairs, opened her mother's purse, and took the cash that was in her wallet. 

She took a last look around her house, trying and failing to see her mother's body splayed out on the kitchen floor. On TV, death looked . . . calm. Neat and tidy, almost. But death wasn't like that. It was destruction and desecration. It could overwhelm life without any effort. And at that moment, Buffy was overwhelmed.

Her steps were plodding as she walked to Merrick's small apartment. She knew she needed sleep before her next step, whatever that was. She didn't know how she would be able to sleep. 

The first thing she saw when she walked in was the flashing light on the answering machine. With a sigh, she dropped her bag, closed and locked the door, and sat down in the chair that was by the answering machine. She stabbed her finger at the playback button, and a British voice with an underlying tension filled the room.

"Yes, Miss Summers. My name is Quentin Travers, and I'm the head of the Watcher's Council. We received your message, and we are ready to relay your instructions to you. Please telephone this number to reach us: 555-3425. When you call, you will be instructed to say a password. This password is the last word on page 74 of the book that your Watcher always carried. Do not delay in contacting us, Miss Summers--the situation warrants your immediate response."

Buffy listened to the message again, and couldn't help the small, hysterical laugh that bubbled up. And she had thought Merrick was a pompous stuffed shirt . . . 

Merrick always had a copy of Jane Eyre with him. She had asked him why, but he had never told her. "I guess it must be a Watcher thing," she said out loud, surprised at how loud her voice was in the quiet apartment. She found the book lying on the coffee table where she had left it. She had pulled it from Merrick's coat pocket after he had been attacked, not knowing why at the time. She opened it to the page indicated and felt her blood turn cold at the last word on the page. 

Dead. 

Buffy felt the tears rising again, but she sniffed and ignored them. And despite the urgency of the message, she waited fifteen minutes before she telephoned.

"Please state the password," a mechanical-sounding voice chirped when the phone was answered. She managed to say the word, but the only response was a series of clicks. Then, that same British voice from the message came through. 

"Hello? Is this Miss Summers?"

"Yeah," Buffy said.

"Miss Summers, the Council is relieved to hear from you. When Merrick did not make his weekly report, we feared the worst."

At the sound of that oily voice, oozing false sympathy, Buffy felt her teeth grind together. 

"Yeah, I can imagine. How awful it'd be for all you guys, having to train another new slayer, and so soon after losing the girl before me," she said, hearing the scorn in her voice.

She could hear a rustling over the phone--she must be on speakerphone. "Miss Summers," a different voice said, one that sounded like he was trying to be kind. "We are all deeply grieved by the loss of Merrick. He was one of the best of us. But unfortunately, we are at a critical time, and we cannot allow ourselves to grieve as we would wish."

"Indeed," Mr. Travers cut in. "Miss Summers, your instructions are as follows: you are to proceed to Cleveland--"

"Cleveland? I thought I was going to Sunnydale!" Buffy said, clutching the receiver tightly.

"To be frank, Miss Summers, we here thought that Merrick had overstated the influence of the Hellmouth on Sunnydale. The situation in Cleveland has escalated in the last three weeks, so therefore the Council has decided to alter your original assignment. As I was saying, you will proceed to Cleveland, traveling in a manner that does not draw attention to yourself. We suggest that you make use of the emergency funds that Merrick will have prepared. Take public transportation, if possible. We expect you in Cleveland in four days. When you arrive there, you will contact Mr. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, at the following phone number--"

"My mother was killed today," Buffy said, not caring that she had interrupted again.

There was a long silence, then the one with the nice voice spoke again. "Miss Summers--Buffy. What happened?"

Buffy knew it was a mistake to tell them about her mom. She could feel the tears filling her eyes, almost ready to spill down her face. She shook her head and wiped at her eyes. "I came home and found that she'd been attacked in our house. The vampires have gotten completely out of hand since I killed Lothos."

"You slayed Lothos?" the nice voice asked in surprise. "The last report we had from Merrick indicated that you were preparing yourself to face him. When we heard nothing further, we feared that you had both been . . . well, you know."

"Yeah, he's dead, but he got Merrick first. I didn't know what to do, so I tried everything to find someone to tell me what to do. But now?" Buffy paused, before continuing. "I wished I hadn't. I don't want to go to Cleveland."

"Buffy," Nice Guy started to say, before Travers cut him off.

"Enough, Mr. Giles. Miss Summers, the Council extends its sympathy to you at this time. Yet this does not change the essential issue: you are going to Cleveland. Once you arrive there, we will begin the procedures to take custody of you, and you will work with your new Watcher in confronting the darkness that we face. You should contact Mr. Wyndam-Pryce at 555-2462, local area code, when you arrive. Please repeat your instructions."

"What, you think I've suddenly gone deaf and I missed out on something important?" Buffy said, fighting the urge to bang the phone against the wall.

There was no response, and Buffy sighed heavily. "Go to Cleveland, using the emergency funds and on public transportation. Arrive in four days, contact Mr. Wesley Westin-Prince--"

"Wyndam-Pryce," Travers corrected her.

Buffy rolled her eyes and continued. "Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, at 555-2462. Satisfied that the dumb blonde got all that?"

"Yes," Travers said. "Good luck, Miss Summers."

"Yeah, whatever," Buffy said, hanging up the phone. She slumped down in the chair she was sitting in. She felt the anger that had been boiling in her fading away, leaving fear and sadness in its wake. For a long, endless moment, she stared into space. Then, with a growl, she took the nails of one hand and dug them into her palm. The spark of pain jolted her out of her thoughts, and made her get up.

She found a bundle of twenties in the freezer, and she tossed them into her bag. While she was in the kitchen, she stared at the refrigerator and cupboards, knowing she should eat but not finding anything that made her feel hungry. With a sigh, she left the kitchen and lay down on the couch. 

The night passed slowly, each minute ticking by and reminding Buffy of what she faced, of what she had lost. Sometime around midnight, she started crying. The tears fell, not like rain but like a waterfall. She took no comfort in her tears, and she knew that she would never let herself cry again.

Merrick's apartment faced east, so she saw daylight slowly creep into the room. As the room grew brighter, she sat up and wiped at her face, feeling grimy and gritty. She headed for the bathroom for her shower, the hot water managing to make her feel less numb, more awake. She got dressed and left the apartment, shouldering her bag and not bothering to lock the door. 

***

The bus ride had started out normally. She had climbed aboard, leaned against the window, and closed her eyes. She had drifted off into a sleep that didn't refresh her, but at least it filled the hours and cut down on small talk with her fellow passengers. 

The sound of screams jolted her to full awareness. Night had fallen, and the bus had come to a stop. She stood up, but couldn't see what was going on. She hopped up and down, cursing her shortness, and then scrabbled through her bag, her hand closing upon a stake. She kept the stake by her side as she made her way up the aisle to the front of the bus, where she could see what was going on. Two cars had crashed together, taking up both lanes. But it didn't look like a normal road accident. The vampires who were chowing down on the passengers sort of confirmed that impression.

With a sigh, Buffy went into action. Punch, kick, flip, stake, lather rinse repeat. She had counted seven vamps, most of whom were so young they still had grave dirt in their hair. At one time, she would have been wary of taking on so many at once. But this time, she couldn't really think of a reason to be worried. After all, what was the worst that could happen?

In ten minutes, it was all over, and she was breathing heavy and wiping at the sweat on her forehead. She was also, she noticed, alone. 

"What the hell?" she said, looking around. Apparently, the bus had managed to drive off while she was fighting, probably returning to Los Angeles. She stood there, then felt her heart drop when she realized her clothes, her stakes, and her money were still on the bus. Her resources consisted of the clothes on her back, the twenty in her jeans pocket, and the stake in her hand. 

Buffy sighed, a long, deep sigh to purge the anger and frustration from her body. "Great. I had to jinx things by asking what was the worst thing that could happen." The day's ride had taken her well into Arizona, and she didn't like the idea of going back to LA and calling the Council to tell them she would be late. Her dad had always said, "Better to ask for forgiveness than permission." So, with shoulders squared, she started walking east, skirting past the wrecked cars. For a moment, she considered using them, but a closer look convinced her that neither car would be driving any time soon. Besides, she wasn't exactly the best driver in the world.

Her boot heels clicked dully on the pavement, making the only noise in a landscape that stretched out on all sides. She tried not to think too much about everything that had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours, or about what faced her when she arrived in Cleveland. For now, there was only putting one foot in front of the other.

When the world lit up, she turned around in surprise to see a car bearing down on her. She stood there, her hand shading her eyes, and wondered if she should try hitchhiking. For a moment, years of warnings about taking rides from strangers crowded into her head, but then she rolled her eyes. "You're the Slayer, idiot. Like you can't handle yourself." With that, she stuck out her thumb.

To her surprise, the car started slowing, rolling to a gradual stop by her. From what she could see, it was an older car, as large as a boat. The guy who was driving was as much of a throwback as his car. When he turned on the dashboard light, she could see his hair was bleached blonde and slicked back. His face was thin, and he had a bit of a smirk on his face. 

"So, little girl, where you headed?" he said, a British accent making his voice sound rough and growly.

"Like I'm gonna tell you," Buffy said, placing her hands on her hips. "I just want a ride to someplace that might pass for civilization. If you're cool with that, hopefully we can make this as painless as possible."

"Spike?" A low, soft voice came from the backseat. "Who's that?"

"Hitchhiker, Dru. Think the presence of another girl will calm her down?"

Buffy blew the hair out of her eyes and spoke before the other girl could. "It's doubtful, but if you couldn't already guess, I don't have a lot of options at this point."

"Then your chariot awaits, madam," the guy said, waving his hand towards the front seat. 

"Fine," Buffy said, climbing into the car and staring straight ahead as the guy shifted gears and pulled back onto the highway. "So what kind of name is Spike?"

***

_The interesting thing about alternate realities is that there's usually a sense of balance about them, you know. If you're a girl in "your" reality, you just might be a boy in another universe. But in the same breath, your boyfriend will be your girlfriend. So, in that other world, Willow and Xander were the ubercool vampire couple. So what did that mean for Spike and Dru, your universe's ubercool vampire couple?_

_Well, you'll see._

***

Buffy's head drifted towards her chest, her eyes closed. She let it rest there, before jerking it upright. The white lines of the highway were hypnotic, making her want to curl up in a ball and sleep for the rest of her life. But she wasn't about to go to sleep in this situation. Sure, she could take care of herself, but that was no reason to be completely stupid.

"You know, it's safe to sleep. I'm not going to try and feel you up or attack you or such. And it's not just for the logistical reasons--I wouldn't do that to Dru."

"How touching," Buffy said, knowing she sounded bitchy and sarcastic but not really caring. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him shrug, a bit of a grin on his face. "Suit yourself."

There was silence for a few moments, then Buffy decided to get around to asking the important questions. "So, like I said, what kind of name is Spike?"

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, but he just said, "Just a nickname. Real name's William, but only my mum calls me that."

She didn't say anything in response, and Spike said, "At this point, it's customary to say what your name is."

"Let's just say it's better that you don't know."

"Have it your way, sunshine. Work that lady of mystery air. But there's a lot of miles between here and there, so we'll see how long you keep your guilty secret."

She did her best not to flinch at his words, focusing instead on practicalities. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, just out for a drive," Spike said lightly. "I get my kicks picking up helpless damsels."

Buffy wished there had been more light in the car, so he could see just how much he was annoying her. He must have picked up the hint, because he said, "Dru needs to see a doctor in St. Louis. He's expensive, so I figured it was cheaper to drive than fly. Besides, flying and Dru . . . well, those aren't two things that go together well."

At that, silence fell over them, and gradually, Buffy drifted off to sleep.

***

The sound of a knocking against the window drew Buffy to awareness. She realized that it was now daytime, early morning judging by the light. It appeared that they were now in a rest stop, parked beneath a tree at the edge of a vast parking lot. A uniformed security guard stood on the other side of her window. She took a quick look around, and noticed that Spike was curled up with Dru in the back seat. Seeing that twanged something inside her, but she ignored it in favor of opening her window. 

"Good morning, sir," she said, choosing to go with the clueless-but-obediant little girl routine. "What can I do for you?"

The guard gave her a long look. "Good morning. You kids been travelling?"

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, bit of a road trip. We meant to stop and get a hotel last night, but before we knew it, it was really late, so we just pulled in here for a few hours. Better to do that then get in an accident, right?" Buffy gave thanks for the recent events in her life, events that had taught her how to lie effectively.

He gave her another long look, then made one of those harrumphs that adults make. "Right. But I think you've gotten your sleep, so perhaps you can get up, get some breakfast, and get back on the road. The earlier you start, the more miles you'll get to cover."

"Sure thing, sir. I'm just going to wake up my friends now," Buffy said, giving him a big smile and hoping he'd leave rather than watch her. 

The guard gave her a small smile back, and pointed his finger at her. "Be safe, you hear?"

"Yes, sir," Buffy said, giving him a little salute. With a wave, the guard walked off, and Buffy sank back against the seat. Then, she turned around, and slapped Spike's shoulder. "Get up."

"Wha-?" he muttered, moving a bit against Dru.

Buffy gave him another shove. "Come on, up and at 'em. The locals want us to move on out. And what's the idea, sleeping in a rest stop? That's usually illegal."

"Couldn't drive any more, and I'm trying to save as much money as I can on this trip. Figured a few hours' kip would be enough." Spike wiggled himself into a semi-upright position and rubbed his eyes. 

"Whatever," Buffy said, rolling her eyes. "I'm going inside."

"Wait a minute--let me wake up Dru and we'll get something to eat." He leaned over and gently ran his fingers across Dru's cheek. "Dru, time to get up," he said, his voice softer, warmer, than she'd heard him speak before. "Come on, pet," he said, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a small shake. 

Dru's eyes opened, then widened. She sprang up and pushed Spike away, then cowered against the window, tears slowly pouring down her cheeks. Spike, who had fallen off the seat and was on the floor, tried to get up quickly, but just managed to get more tangled up. "Dru, Dru--" Spike said, before a sob interrupted him.

"This is not our world . . . the sun, it burns, but my skin . . . Oh, the darkness . . ." Dru covered her eyes with her hands, and Buffy bit her lip. She hadn't expected this, and she wasn't sure she wanted to deal with it. But what other option did she have? 

Part of her wondered if she should help calm down Dru, but a glance at Spike, and his answering look, told her to stay quiet and sit still. Not something she liked doing, but she had a feeling that if she didn't listen, Spike would have no problem leaving her at this rest stop.

"Shhhh, Dru, shhhhh, that's it, luv . . ." Spike crooned, slowly moving across the seat and taking Dru into his arms. She went with another sob, and he rocked her in a slow, easy motion, one that looked well-practiced. 

Buffy felt like all the air had been sucked out of the car. She wished that her mother was there, rocking her, holding her, whispering that everything would be all right. But she wasn't. She would never be there, ever again.

She fumbled for the door handle, and got out of the car. She took long, slow, deep breaths, bending at the waist and resting her hands on her knees. After a few moments, the wave of emotion passed, leaving her feeling numb. She stood up, wrapped her hands around her waist, and walked into the rest stop. 

She avoided looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. By focusing on what she had to do--use the toilet, wash her hands, splash water on her face, wet a finger and rub it across her teeth--she was able to keep moving. She walked out of the bathroom and looked at the food choices. A coffee shop, a fast food joint, and a convenience store. She pulled the twenty out of her pocket and tried to think about how long she could make it last, with stops at overpriced rest stops. She sighed, and walked over to the fast food joint. 

"A small coffee and a bagel, please," she said. It wasn't much, but at two-fifty, it would do the trick well enough. She wasn't that hungry, anyway. 

When she turned around, she saw that Spike and Dru were sitting at a table to her left. She headed over, dropping her breakfast on the table. She busied herself pouring packet after packet of sugar into her coffee, then looked up at Spike. His face was worried, a bit tense. "Don't let me stop you from eating. Go ahead, get something."

Spike looked at her for a moment, then turned to Dru. "Dru, why don't you stay here with . . . our fellow traveller, and get to know each other? Perhaps you'll find out her name, huh?" He grinned at her, a little-boy grin that was full of mischief. Buffy had a sense that he'd used it often, but it rang a little hollow at the moment. Like he was trying too hard. With a squeeze of Dru's hand, he ambled over to the coffee shop.

Buffy tore her bagel into small pieces, trying to make it last as long as possible. She looked up to see Dru looking straight at her. 

"You're lost right now, aren't you?" Dru's voice was calm and lucid, but very sad. Her eyes were clear, and she didn't show any signs of the emotional wreck she had been only minutes earlier.

Buffy took a long sip of her coffee. "I suppose you could say we're all lost, though, couldn't you?"

"No one is lost who has their compass."

"That's one way to look at it," Buffy replied, while wondering just what was wrong with Dru.

"I have schizophrenia. Part of my delusion is my belief that I'm psychic, but of course, that's silly. No one is psychic, really," Dru said, a light tone in her voice.

"So that's why you're going to see that doctor in St. Louis?" Buffy asked, deciding to keep things simple. 

Dru nodded. "Yes."

"I'm on my way to Cleveland," Buffy said. It was odd, but something about Dru made you want to talk to her. Tell her things. She had a face that said, 'I can keep secrets.' 

Dru scrunched up her nose. "That'll be a change from here, won't it? They have winter there, with snow that stings your nose and air that steals your warmth. You'll have to work very hard to keep your warmth . . . because you don't have much left."

Buffy looked at the tabletop, then shoved a chunk of bagel into her mouth. She never thought she'd be thankful to see a bleached-blond British man walk into sight, but seeing Spike out of the corner of her eye made her sit back in her chair.

"Right, pet, got you a bit of everything, figuring that I could eat around what you leave, and maybe even our friend here--"

"Buffy," Dru said, a tranquil smile on her face.

"What was that?" Spike said, his babble cut off in mid-stream.

"Her name is Buffy," Dru said, that Mona Lisa smile still on her lips. 

Spike turned and stared at her. Then, he gave a long laugh. "Bloody hell, that's some awful thing for your parents to do to you."

Buffy shrugged. "At least I can blame my parents, instead of myself . . . Spike." 

Spike laughed again, and started pushing food at Dru. "Well, you can see what they were going for," he said. "But it doesn't really fit you, does it?"

She opened her mouth to disagree, then closed it. "Whatever," she said, retreating into silence and watching as Spike urged Dru to eat. She could tell that the other girl didn't want to eat, but Dru gave in to Spike's pleadings and ate part of a breakfast sandwich and drank a small container of orange juice. Even with what Spike ate, there was still plenty of food left on the tray. The smell of sausage and hashbrowns made her stomach rumble, loud enough for all three to hear it.

She hoped they would all just ignore it, but Spike shot her a sharp look, then looked at Dru. But it was Dru who pushed the sausage towards Buffy without a word. For a moment, she considered acting like she didn't want it. But another rumble broke the silence, and Buffy picked up the sausage, feeling once again on the verge of tears. She ate it, then wiped her hands on a napkin, trying to act casual. They should have said something to her about leaving by now, shouldn't they? It wasn't like they could take her to Cleveland, not since they were only going to St. Louis. It might be better to leave now, find some other way. She'd made it this far, she could find someone else to offer her a ride. And if nothing turned up, she could always call the Council . . . 

No. She had already suffered too many knocks to her pride and her ego to call the Council for help, like the dumb blonde they thought she was. She could make it on her own. 

"So, where are you headed, Buffy?" Spike said, speaking through a mouthful of biscuit. 

Here it comes. Buffy straightened her shoulders. "East. Cleveland, to be specific."

Spike nodded, and finished off his breakfast. He started gathering wrappers and cups and putting them back on the tray. "Well, ladies, go make yourselves beautiful, or whatever it is girls do in the bathroom, and I'll meet you at the car."

As he began to rise from his chair, Buffy put out a hand. "Wait a minute, I can stay?"

Spike looked at Dru, then looked at her. He shrugged his shoulders. "Why not? I don't mind, and I think Dru's taking a liking to you, haven't you, pet?"

Dru nodded. "Oh, yes. I sleep so much--it'll be nice for Spike to have company."

Buffy sat back in her chair. "But, but . . ." She was ready to voice all the objections, all the reasons they shouldn't bother. But something made the words dry up, and after letting her mouth hang open for a long moment, she closed her mouth and tossed her empty cup and wrapper on Spike's tray. "Okay," she said. She stood up, and followed Dru to the bathrooms. And something inside her shifted loose, just a fraction, and it gave a small bounce to her step, a gentle swing to her ponytail. 

She felt a little bit like Buffy again.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sweet, isn't it? Humans have such hope; they tell themselves that things can't get worse, yet all the while, they're wishing and praying for their luck to change. Our Buffy's no different from anyone else. She's thinking that things are going to work out: even if she leaves Spike and Dru in St. Louis, she'll have good memories of this trip, a way to remember this in-between time. And how odd is it, that this reality's Buffy is enjoying the company of Spike and Dru?_

_But the other Buffy? The one that our Buffy's hitchhiking along with? Let's just say her hopes aren't nearly as high._

***

The miles of road flashed past the windows, yet the horizon seemed to stay out of reach. The heat rose, and the air conditioning barely managed to make a dent in it. Buffy pulled her hair up in a bun on top of her head, and rolled up her sleeves. In spite of the heat, Dru managed to look like a fairy princess as she slept in the back seat. 

"Why does she sleep so much?" Buffy asked Spike.

Spike shrugged. "She's on some heavy-duty meds. But I think it's more that she just likes to sleep. I bet her dreams are out of this world, so who wouldn't want to sleep all the time?"

Buffy took a long look at the man behind the wheel. He didn't seem that much older than her--maybe three, four years, tops. He didn't look very old, that was for sure, with the bleached hair and all-black clothes. But there was something about those blue eyes of his . . . they looked old. 

"So what are you? Boyfriend-girlfriend?"

He didn't say anything for a few moments, then he spoke, apparently choosing his words carefully. "I've known Dru most of my life. We knew each other in England, we grew up together. She was . . . amazing. She shone so bright, and I couldn't help falling head over heels for her. When she decided to come to the US during her gap year--that's the year between high school and college, when you travel or work or something before you start school. Anyway, I came along with her. But something happened when we got to LA. She . . . changed. The light got dim, but it was still there. She spent the whole year struggling, and I did all I could to take care of her. But it wasn't enough."

He stopped speaking, and Buffy thought she could see signs of tears in his eyes. But perhaps it was just a trick of the light. 

Spike took a deep breath and continued, his voice lighter. "So, no, she's not my girlfriend. And that's okay. I don't think we'd be good for each other. But there's something there, yeah?"

Buffy nodded slowly. "Yeah, I see."

The hum of the car, the soft swishing of the wind, were the only noises. Buffy leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.

"Now, now, it's enough that I've got one Sleeping Beauty; don't ask me to deal with two. What's in Cleveland?"

Buffy shifted in her seat, turning to face him. "I'm so not Sleeping Beauty. I'm not some damsel in distress."

Spike shot her a quick glance. "You know, on most girls, that'd just be talk. But I've got a feeling you can back it up."

"Yeah, I can," she said, her voice quiet. "That's why I'm going to Cleveland."

"What, to be some kind of superhero?" he said, grinning. 

"I got into too much trouble, so I'm getting shipped off," Buffy said, ignoring what he had said and choosing one version of her recent past. 

"And, what? You were told to hit the road, like that, and find your own way?" Spike asked, his forehead wrinkled. "Bit brutal, that."

"That's the way it was," Buffy said. 

The silence that fell now was less comfortable than the last one. She bit her lip. Being who she was always seemed to create questions, and the answers never seemed to satisfy. 

"So, do you like the Ramones?"

"What?" Buffy asked, startled by Spike's voice, and then by his question. "Huh?"

"Ramones. One of the most important bands in punk, let alone in music history." 

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Isn't punk all posing and bad playing?"

"And that makes them different from the current music scene, how? Punk's all about getting rid of all that stupid crap, like what you look like and what you do. It's all about how you feel, and letting that out. And the Ramones--they're brilliant. Here, listen."

Spike fumbled with the old stereo, shoving a cassette tape in and adjusting the volume. Guitars and drums played a beat that was raucous and energetic. Then, without further ado, a grainy, completely untheatrical voice started singing.

_Twenty-twenty-twenty-four hours to go_  
I wanna be sedated  
Nothing to do, nowhere to go  
I wanna be sedated 

Buffy closed her eyes to listen. She didn't know why, but she could see what Spike meant. It wasn't what she'd normally choose to listen to, but it had a strange appeal, this loud, angry music that was also more than that. 

Spike looked over at her, his eyes snapping with enjoyment. She got the feeling that he liked sharing this, his favorite music, with her. She couldn't help the grin she gave him, because she liked being someone he shared things with. 

They listened to the Ramones tape, then a mix tape with various artists. She would ask him the name of the band, and get names like the Buzzcocks, the Rezillos, and Ian Drury & the Blockheads. Some of the songs, like London Calling and Lust for Life, she recognized from commericals, and told Spike this. At that, he acted like someone had stabbed him. "Bleedin' shame, hearing those songs flogging crap from Burger King," he put it. 

And by the time the last tape finished, she could see what he meant. 

***

They pulled into another rest stop as the sun started dropping in the sky, now nearly to Oklahoma. Dru had woken up a few hours ago, and had listened to Buffy and Spike's conversation, occasionally asking Buffy a question, reminding Spike of something they had done. Buffy had expected to feel like a third wheel, even after Spike had told her they weren't a couple. But strangely enough, she didn't feel like that. It was just . . . comfortable. 

As they walked into the rest stop, Buffy felt her stomach tighten. She was starving, again. And the thought of stretching her meager funds, especially since St. Louis was getting closer and closer, made her stomach hurt. She sighed, and took a look at their choices. A coffee shop, a fast food joint, and a convenience store. 

"Is it just me, or is this deja vu all over again?" Buffy asked, looking at Spike. 

"It's a bit off, going hundreds of miles and feeling like you haven't gone anywhere," Spike said in agreement.

"Whereever you go, there you are," Dru said solemnly. For some reason, that caused Spike to laugh, a loud, high laugh that carried across the food court. Dru stopped looking serious as she giggled at him, and Buffy couldn't help laughing too, even though she didn't get the joke. 

"Well, what's your pleasure, Dru?" Spike asked, taking a look around. 

"Chips, Spike. And maybe, if you ask me nicely, I'll even eat some meat," Dru said, smiling at him. 

"Oh, pretty please, Dru, let me buy you a cheeseburger that maybe, just maybe, you'll eat?" Spike said, rolling his eyes as if this was something they did often. 

"Since you asked so nicely, yes, please buy me a cheeseburger. Buffy, what do you want?"

Buffy started. "Oh! Um, I'm not sure . . . I was thinking of getting a small salad . . ."

Spike gave her a long look, then said, "Why don't you leave it to me, ladies? Grab a table, and I'll serve you in style."

Buffy had a feeling that he had figured out her money situation. After all, it was probably pretty obvious: she didn't have any bags, she barely bought anything for breakfast, and she was hitchhiking cross-country with two complete strangers. Her pride made her want to insist on paying her own way. But the practical part of her, the part that kept her alive when she was fighting vamps, told her that pride wouldn't do much to fill an empty wallet.

"Okay," she said with a nod. She walked behind Dru to a table and sat down, trying not to feel embarrassed. 

"You don't like this, but you don't have to feel ashamed," Dru said. 

"Look, I really do appreciate this, but could we not talk about it?' Buffy asked, resting her face in her hands. 

"All right. So you like Spike's music, do you?" Dru said, changing the subject in that obvious way of hers.

Buffy couldn't help a small laugh and lifted her head to look at the other girl. "Yeah. I never thought I'd like something like that. But it just fits."

"I know. I feel that way at times, too. But I like lots of music. That's what I was studying."

"Really? Wow."

Dru nodded. "Yes, I was planning to become a pianist. Now, though . . . well, I don't know. I'm waiting to see what the doctor says."

Buffy wondered what she should say, whether she should express sympathy, or ask questions, or just change the subject again. Thankfully, only a moment after Dru finished speaking, Spike walked over with a tray of food. "Right, nothing but Cordon Bleu for you lot tonight," he said with a grin. 

Dru smiled impishly at Buffy. And Buffy, despite the unsettling conversation, despite her battered ego, despite all the problems she was trying not to think about, smiled back.

***

"So can you drive, Buffy?" Spike asked as they walked out to the car.

"Drive? Me?" She didn't sound like she was scared, right?

"Yes, you. I figured, if you'd drive for a few hours, I could get some sleep and we could keep moving. Don't fancy getting nearly arrested two days in a row for just sleeping," he said, his voice sarcastic.

"Um, well, you see . . . I don't have my license."

Spike shrugged. "Okay, then. It was just an idea. I'm good for a while longer, then we'll just stop someone for some sleep. You can just charm the security guard again," he said, a smile coming over his face. 

For some reason, that smile struck Buffy. It wasn't any different from any of the smiles she'd seen on his face over the last day and a half. But now, after listening to his music and having him buy her food because she couldn't . . . it felt different. 

Spike had walked ahead to settle Dru in the backseat. He was talking to her quietly, and she watched as he ran a hand over her hair. Not many guys would take care of a girl like that, even a girlfriend. It was clear that Spike cared about Dru, but it wasn't romantic, at least not any more. 

So it wouldn't be wrong, if she, Buffy, was interested in . . .

Before the thought could be fully formed in her mind, Buffy shook her head vigorously. That was so not the thought to be having at a time like this. 

But before she knew it, she had run over to the car and said to Spike, "I did take driver's ed, and I passed it. I just . . . things happened, and I never got my license, officially." She paused, looking into his face, his measuring expression. "I'm willing to take a chance if you are."

Spike looked just as hard at her as she was looking at him. Then, he nodded. "Okay, then. We'll wait till it gets dark, when there's less cars about, then you can drive for a couple of hours. Just an hour or two, then we'll stop for the night." He turned to walk around to the driver's side, then stopped and faced her again. "You sure about this?"

Buffy thought for a long moment. They could get pulled over, and she'd be arrested for driving without a license. They could get into an accident. Or, nothing would happen. She'd drive a few hours, and give Spike a break. Spike, who paid for her food and took care of his not-girlfriend, without any leers or insinuations.

"I'm sure," she said, and it was the easiest decision she had made in a long time.

***

_Well, well, well, what do we have here? Makes you wonder about those silly schoolgirl ideas like soulmates, doesn't it? There's something about those two, I'm telling you . . . of course, our Buffy's not going to find out about that, not really, for a while yet, but you know all about it._

_What makes you trust someone? Is it seeing a secret part of them? Is it just the way they act, the way they talk? Or is it simpler, and harder, to describe?_

_I don't know. Us demons don't trust very much, and with good reason. But sure, there's people I trust with my life. People that are out for my best interest. I'll stand by them until I'm dead._

_But I can hear you now, all nervous and annoyed. "What's trust got to do with it? And how will all this make the other Buffy into the Slayer she is? And what does it mean for our Buffy?"_

_Patience. Remember, life is about the journey, not the destinat--_

_Oh, very well. We can speed things up a bit, but you're going to be the lesser for it, I tell you. There was a great moment, where Buffy catches Spike looking at her, and he looks away, and she can't help blushing, and he gets all nervous, and--_

_What? You've seen that kind of thing before? Well, no one ever said falling in love was original. Each happy love story is the same, but every unhappy love story is different. Just to paraphrase Tolstoy._

_I've seen angry mobs less demanding. Back to the action . . ._

***

Spike's voice awoke her. "We're twenty miles from St. Louis," he said.

In that fuzzy, half-awake state, she couldn't help staring at his hands. They looked so capable, so confident. Like he could do anything with them. She suspected that if he touched her, he could bring her back to life. Being around him . . . it was like the rush of blood after a limb had fallen asleep. It was uncomfortable, even painful at first, but then it gradually became normal, even desired. 

Dru was still asleep in the back seat; Spike's voice had been low, like he didn't want to wake her. She shifted a bit in her seat, rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?"

"About nine-thirty."

Buffy didn't respond, just focused on straightening her clothes and running her hands through her hair. "We made good time."

"Thanks to some excellent driving from yours truly," Spike said, a devilish grin on his face.

"Hey, I helped!" Buffy said, punching him lightly in the arm. Of course, she made sure to restrain the blow, not wanting to give him any ideas of how strong she really was.

"Ouch! Okay, okay, you did good, too. Especially once you let the car go faster than thirty miles an hour," Spike said. 

"Oh, you're asking for it," Buffy said. "Next time we stop, you're getting your ass kicked, you limey wanker."

Spike laughed. Today, after Spike had called another driver a bloody tosser, Buffy had made him explain various British insults, to her delight and Dru's amusement. 

Buffy laughed along with him and relaxed against the seat. A comfortable silence fell between them. It was hard to believe that three days ago, she didn't know Spike and he didn't know her. She had been prickly, standoffish. And there were still times when she retreated. But it was hard to hold out against Spike. 

She liked him. And she thought he liked her. And soon they would be in St. Louis, and they would go their separate ways.

Buffy bit her lip. The thought of saying goodbye made her stomach clench, and her throat close up. Because she didn't want to leave Spike. But she would, and it would hurt. Not the same way as Merrick and her mother; there, she had no choice. Death was like that; it didn't give you any options. But with Spike . . . she had to choose. And that made it worse. Because no matter what she chose, it would be the wrong choice.

"So, I was thinking," Spike said, pulling her out of her thoughts. "I thought, that with the appointment tomorrow and everything, that I'd get--I mean, we'd share--um, a hotel room. Well, see--I can really only afford one room. But of course, I'll get one with two beds," he said, almost stumbling over his words.

She turned to look at him. The highway lights threw scraps of yellow-tinted light into the car, but she couldn't really see his expression. He seemed almost . . . nervous.

"Yeah, sure. Nothing to be jittery about, right? It's not like it's just the two of us," Buffy said, trying to sound cheerful and unconcerned. 

Spike turned and gave her as long a look as he dared, she supposed. "Yeah, true. There's three of us." 

And for some reason, she thought his voice sounded sad about the fact that there was three of them.

***

When they pulled into St. Louis an hour later, Buffy wondered what was next. Of course, there was the obvious stuff, like Dru seeing her doctor. And Buffy would leave, and make her way to Cleveland. Alone. 

She didn't know how she'd fallen for him. It shouldn't have happened. How could she be thinking about herself, when Merrick had died protecting her? When she had no idea what had happened to her mother's body? When she had a calling, a destiny, something that left no room for anyone else? Merrick had drilled her about keeping her identity a secret, and even though she had made Superman jokes, she had agreed with him. And after all, look at what happened to her mother. 

Buffy stared out the window of the car. Spike had pulled into a small hotel's parking lot on the outskirts of St. Louis, and he was now inside the office, getting a room. She could see him through the plate glass windows: he was shifting around, fiddling with pens, bouncing on his heels. Part of her felt giddy, bubbly, girly. She knew what his nervousness meant: he wanted to share a room with her. Of course, with Dru, and the fact that they hadn't even kissed, meant that it would be just a platonic thing. For now, that is. But who knew what could happen?

But nothing would happen. Because tomorrow, she would leave for Cleveland. She knew the first thing she should do was call Greyhound and find out how much a bus ticket would cost, but the thought of making that phone call . . . Yet what choice did she have? She either went to Cleveland alone, or she stayed with Spike and ignored her mission. Or, even worse, she asked Spike to come with her. And even though she was tempted, oh so tempted, she wouldn't ask him. Because either he'd have to bring Dru along, or he'd have to abandon her. If Dru came, Buffy had the feeling that she and Spike would never become a couple. And if Spike left Dru, he'd never allow them to become what they could be. He had too much honor, too much kindness, to do that to anyone, much less Dru. 

She sighed, and watched Spike walk towards the car, jingling the room key in his hand. She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry over the unfairness of everything. But crying never did anything to change the facts. The best thing to do was to act normal, act cheerful, put on the Buffy mask and part with Spike and Dru as friends. Perhaps the doctor would be able to help Dru, get her back on an even keel, and she'd finally see what she had in Spike. 

Buffy couldn't be selfish. She wanted happiness for one of them, and since it couldn't be for her, she so wanted it for Spike.

"Okay, we're all set. I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to a shower," Spike said, starting the car and driving them around the hotel complex.

Buffy nodded. "Tell me about it. I just wish I had some other clothes," she said, holding out her t-shirt. Dru had lent her a shirt the first morning, so she had a spare. She usually rinsed out the "dirty" shirt in a bathroom sink and let it air-dry in the car. The next day, she put on the "clean" shirt and washed the "dirty" one. 

Spike ran an eye over her. She could tell, even though she wasn't looking at him. She could feel his eyes on her, and it nearly made her shiver. 

"Perhaps I can help you out--"

"No, Spike. You've done way too much for me. I could never repay you, and I don't want to add to my debt any more than I already have." He opened his mouth, and she cut him off. "I'm serious. I'll be fine. A shower will be just what the doctor ordered."

Spike nodded. "Okay then, sunshine."

She tried to keep the smile that spread across her face from showing. Spike liked giving people nicknames, she had noticed. When he had called her sunshine for the first time, she had wanted to tell him that her name was Buffy, which was very easy to remember, and therefore a nickname was unnecessary. Now, though, she was glad that she had never said that to him. Because she liked being called sunshine. She liked the idea that she was like the sun to him: bright, unchanging, and necessary.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that the evening was a blur to her. Spike got sandwiches, which she ate mechanically. She took a shower, barely noticing the warm water and the unusual feeling of being clean. She got into the bed that she was sharing with Dru, and all she was thinking about was what the next day would hold. 

Well, she was also feeling a bit happy that Dru was sharing with her and not with Spike. 

She hadn't realized how tired she was, how comfortable a bed was after three days of sleeping in a car. Within moments of slipping between the sheets, she fell asleep, and slept without dreams. When a hand shook her shoulder, she pushed them away sleepily. "Go 'way."

"I would, but I can't exactly leave you in the room, since I've checked out."

At the sound of Spike's voice, she rolled over and looked up at him, surprised. "What time is it?"

"Nearly eleven. I took Dru to the doctor's, and she's seeing him now. You were sleeping so soundly, I couldn't bear to wake you. But like I said, we had to check out. Get dressed, and I'll take you to breakfast."

Buffy rubbed her face. "Okay. Breakfast sounds good. Sorry for sleeping so long."

"Don't apologize. You needed it. Besides . . ." Spike looked at the floor, the wall, anywhere but her. "You looked peaceful, and I liked seeing that."

She paused, halfway to sitting upright, and thought about how nice that sounded. Somehow, she managed to find her voice. "Thank you, Spike," she said, looking at him. She hoped he realized that she wasn't just thanking him for letting her sleep . . . but for everything he had done for her. She wanted him to know that he had changed her, made her better, in a way that would let her carry on. 

He finally focused on her, and he smiled gently at her. "You're welcome, Buffy." And she thought he had understood, a little, of what she was trying to say. A bittersweet silence fell for a moment, before Spike broke eye contact and said, "Come on, I'm starving. And I know you are," a grin breaking across his face.

"I'm a growing girl, you know," she said, throwing back the covers and padding to the bathroom. 

"You keep saying that, but you don't seem to be getting taller. Where, exactly, are you growing?" Spike asked, his voice muted by the bathroom door.

She ignored him, used to his jokes about her height. She sighed as she pulled on her same clothes, and tried to make her hair look decent before giving up and pulling it back in a ponytail. At least she had deodorant and toothpaste, so she wouldn't be a smelly Buffy. 

When she came out of the bathroom, carrying her toiletries, Spike was picking up things and tossing them into a suitcase. She slipped her stuff into a plastic bag, then helped him look around for anything else. "Amazing, you stay in a room for one night, and you make it your own," he said under his breath, looking a bit frantic. 

"Hey, it's okay," she said, laying a hand on his shoulder for a moment. He took a deep breath and nodded.

"Sorry. Just . . . wondering how it's going for Dru."

Buffy nodded in return. "Yeah, I know. Come on, breakfast. You'll think better then."

"Oi, are you insulting my mental processes?" he said, zipping up the suitcase and following her to the door.

"To insult them, you'd actually have to have mental processes," she said, grinning at him. 

"I'll have you know I have a very good G.P.A.," he said smugly. 

"Well, that's what you say," Buffy said, standing to his side as he closed the door behind them and locked it. 

"You are one step away, missy."

"Hah!" she laughed. "You wish you could take me."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she bit her lip. She hadn't meant her words to sound so . . . suggestive. 

Spike just laughed at her blush, and she followed him to the car, keeping silent and wondering why she was spending her last day with him letting her mouth make dumb mistakes.

***

Buffy kept silent during breakfast, and Spike restricted himself to a few comments about the weather and the food. As she ate her eggs and sausage, drank her orange juice and coffee, Buffy made plans. They didn't excite her. The thought of asking Spike for some money, buying a bus ticket for Cleveland, and saying goodbye . . . there was nothing to look forward to there. 

The waitress had just taken away their dishes, but they were both nursing the last of their coffee. She sighed, and set down her mug. Putting it off just made it worse, made her hope that something would happen to make things different. 

"Spike, I don't know if you know how thankful I am for what you've done for me," she said, looking at him steadily. 

He reached across the table and rested his hand on top of her own. "I think I got the better end of the deal, to be honest. But you're welcome."

The feel of his hand on hers sent tingles up her arm. She closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on the feeling, letting it fill her. Then, she opened her eyes and straightened her shoulders. "I have one last favor to ask. I need to borrow enough money for a bus ticket to Cleveland."

Spike nodded. "I figured something like that was coming. Since . . . well, since I can't drive you to Cleveland."

"I know," she said, biting her lip. "You have to stay with Dru." 

"Yeah. After she's finished with the doctor, we were gonna drive back to California, pack up, and go back to England. Dru's got family there, and besides, our gap year's done."

"What are you going to do?" she asked. 

"Dunno. Go to school, I suppose."

Buffy sighed. "I'm . . . I'm going to Cleveland to stay with someone who's gonna . . . well, I guess he's gonna adopt me. It's a long story, but I, um--my mom . . ." She felt the tears welling in her eyes. By not thinking about her mother, she had managed to keep her emotions under control. But it felt wrong to push aside the tears, to act like everything was fine when it wasn't. She had thought that she would never let herself cry again. But with Spike, she felt like she could be brave enough to cry.

Spike's hand gave hers a squeeze. She took a breath, and said, "I have some . . . special abilities. You could call it a destiny, I guess. And I'm going to Cleveland to learn how to use these talents of mine. And it's really important." She paused, and looked at him. And suddenly, her mouth started working without consulting her brain. "And that's the only reason I'm not asking if I could stay with you."

His eyes, which had been half-focused on the table, snapped up to lock with hers. She saw surprise, then worry and fear and, yes, love, in those blue depths. Then, he smiled at her, a teasing smirk of a smile. "Nah, I'm no prize. Especially when you compare me to a mythical destiny. Even if you're in Cleveland, that's better than me."

"You are so wrong," Buffy said softly. "You're worth anything. But I can't stay with you, and I can't ask you to come with me. But I just wanted you to know . . . if things were different, I'd want to. Stay with you, I mean."

She could feel his hand trembling, just a little bit. They sat in silence, their hands still joined, until the waitress asked if they needed another cup of coffee. At that, Spike shook his head and pulled his hand away from hers. "No, we're done," he told the waitress, then stood up. "Come on, let's find out where the bus station is," he said, his voice calm and cool. 

As she followed him out of the diner, she knew she had done the wrong thing. She should have kept it the way it was. But it was too late now. And at least he knew how she felt. That had to mean something, right? 

It turned out that they were only ten blocks from the bus station. She could have slipped away this morning, leaving just a note and avoiding that conversation in the diner. Buffy wished she had known then what she knew now. 

Scanning the information displays, she made her way to the ticket booth, Spike a dark shadow in her wake. He didn't say anything to her, didn't look at her. It was like he was a ghost. 

A one-way ticket to Cleveland was more expensive than she would have thought, but she decided to go with the overnight bus, and save ten bucks on the fare. She sternly told her heart that it wasn't to give Spike time to think, to decide whether to take her offer. The later ticket ended up requiring her to borrow less money from Spike, and that was what was important: not burdening Spike any more than she already had. 

"Okay, miss, you're all set. Bus will leave from door #7, boarding starts at 9:58pm with a departure of 10:10. Don't be late, because then you'll be stuck here another day." The agent handed her a ticket, and that was that. 

She moved away from the window, then looked up at Spike. He was gazing around the bus station, although she didn't know what fascinated him about the place. A news stand, a coffee shop, and a fast-food joint. She bit her lip, feeling the tension between them and wanting it to go away.

"Not that much different from all those rest stops, huh?" she asked, hoping that he'd talk to her. He didn't say anything, just kept looking around. She sighed, and said, "If you just let me get my bag from the car, you can go. I can wait here until it's time for the bus to leave."

He looked at her, his face blank but his eyes dark and stormy. She wasn't sure what he was going to say, then, finally, he opened his mouth. "Okay, then."

She felt her heart sink as she followed him out to his car, and got her bag out of the back seat. This was it, and she hadn't imagined it like this. Hadn't expected it to be so . . . calm, and cold, and silent. She turned to face him, and said, "Well, I guess this is it."

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Would you . . . would you say goodbye to Dru for me? I'm sorry I won't get to tell her in person, but I'm so glad that she's getting help," she said. And she knew she was being honest. She liked Dru, because she was a nice person who was dealing with some sucky prospects. Buffy knew what that was like, and she wouldn't hate Dru for being able to make things better, unlike herself. And she wouldn't hate Dru for having Spike in her life. 

"Yeah, I'll tell her," Spike said, his voice softening at the thought of Dru.

Buffy looked down at her feet, then back up at Spike. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she couldn't say any of them. She swallowed, and managed, somehow, to say, "Goodbye, Spike." She stuck her hand out. "Thank you for all your help."

He stared at her for a long moment, then reached out and shook her hand. "Goodbye, Buffy. Good luck to you."

They stood there for a long moment, their hands still joined. And then, suddenly, she was pressed against him, hugging him for all she was worth. And he was hugging her back. She didn't know who had made the move and brought them together, but oh, it felt so good. So good that she didn't want to think about it, to analyze it. She just wanted to feel.

They touched for a lifetime and for a moment, and then, at the same time, they drew apart. She drank him in, his lean body, his bleached hair, that quirky scar through his eyebrow, and those amazing eyes. She felt like she was memorizing him, and she hoped that the memory would be enough. 

"You know," he said, his voice light and conversational, "I have the strangest feeling that this isn't really goodbye. Like we'll meet again."

She could feel tears on the edge of her vision, but she sniffed and held them back. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Funny, isn't it?"

"Yeah. We'll have to see. That'll be something to look forward to, I think." His eyes glowed--there was no other word for it. She wasn't sure what it meant, but she hoped it meant he was happy. "You take care of yourself, okay?" he asked, his voice serious.

She nodded. "I can take care of myself."

"Don't I know it, sunshine," he said, a smile on his lips. "See you later."

And with that, he turned, got into his car, and left. She watched him drive away until she lost sight of his big black car. And she could have cried. But instead, she smiled, and waved him goodbye, even though he was too far away to see her. 

Buffy turned and headed into the bus station. A long day stretched out before her, with plenty of time to kill. She read most of the magazines in the news stand. The gruff-looking owner gave her a few looks, but when he saw that she was reading them quietly, putting them back in their proper place, and not leaving dirty fingerprints on them, he apparently decided to let her read in peace. When she got hungry, she got some fries and ate them slowly, washing them down with a drink from the water fountain. She went into the bathroom and spent a half hour studying her face, wondering what people saw when they looked at her. 

And through it all, she wondered about Spike, and what he had meant when he said they would meet again. Was he talking about some kind of weird, life-after-death way, which was majorly creepy? Or did he mean that someday, they might run into each other, in some big city, and then they could be together? It wasn't likely to happen, not with a Slayer's life expectancy. But he didn't know that . . . would he leave her, thinking they'd see each by chance someday, and never realize that they wouldn't? 

Buffy sighed, and decided to go for a walk around the building. It was nearly eight-thirty, and the skies were growing dark. But she knew she'd be cooped up on a bus for the next twelve hours; she wanted some fresh air before that happened. As she walked, she looked at the neighborhood the bus station was in. By day, it was only a little rundown, but at night, the rats, not to mention the other pests, came out, and now the place had a distinctly unsafe vibe. But she kept a stake--her only stake--handy. Good thing, too, as she came across a vamp as he was coming out of an alley. As soon as he saw her, he had tried to pull her into the alley and make her his dinner. She let him drag her far enough so that they were under the cover of darkness, then wasted no time in staking him. 

The small pile of dust that was left behind didn't look like much. And it had been an easy slaying. Even though she hadn't patrolled or trained for nearly a week now, it looked like she was still in pretty good shape. Buffy couldn't help the small smile at the thought of all the hours she had spent with Merrick, working and sweating and groaning that she could never become what he expected she should. It seemed that Merrick had been right, and she had been wrong. Because she felt strong. Powerful. Her personal life might be crap at the moment, but at least she had this. This, she was good at.

She didn't know then that this moment would be the last time she felt like this. Didn't know that soon, there would be nothing left but the Slayer. 

***

It all happened so fast. The bus had pulled up, and she had followed everyone else out door number seven, and they stood in a line outside the building, waiting to board. She was looking down the street, and suddenly, she saw him. It was Spike. He was walking down the street--no, he was nearly running. And he was yelling her name. 

"Buffy! Buffy!"

"Spike?" she said in surprise, watching him come closer. And suddenly, he was moving past that alley, the one where she had slayed the vamp earlier in the night. An arm reached out and pulled Spike into the alley.

And she knew. She knew what was happening to him. So she ran. 

She might have been yelling something, because by the time she got there, she was out of breath. But it didn't matter how fast she had run, or how loudly she had yelled. It was too late. 

There were three of them. They were all crouched over Spike, tearing at his neck, trying to get their fangs into him and drain the last blood from him. But he was gone, all gone . . . 

One of them looked up, and kicked Spike in the side. "That's what you get for being pals with the Slayer. And that, Slayer, is for staking Johnny," he said, turning to her and throwing out his chest. He must have thought he looked macho doing that, Buffy thought distractedly. 

She couldn't take her eyes away from Spike. What was left of him--just a broken shell, no different from what's left when you make eggs for breakfast. But each egg is the same, and Spike was . . . oh, he was gone, he was dead, and it was her fault, and she'd never see him look at her again, never get the chance to kiss him, and oh, god, what was she going to do, what was Dru going to do . . .

The emotions whirled inside her, too much to handle, too much to feel. She couldn't feel all this, it wasn't possible. So she closed her eyes for a moment, and pushed them down, deep down. She visualized them getting shoved down to her stomach, then to her knees, then to her feet. Finally, she pushed them out, into the ground underneath her. 

The Slayer looked up, totally calm. She pulled out her stake, and moved towards the vamps. There was no quips, no playing around. Within thirty seconds, Spike's body was covered in a layer of dust. She looked at him, for a long moment, and then bent down. She brushed away the ashes, and kissed his forehead, his cheek. They were still warm. She didn't kiss him on the mouth; it wasn't her place to do that. 

She stood up, and turned, and walked out of the alley. The bus was still there. She climbed aboard, handed her ticket to the driver, and found an empty seat. She sat perfectly still and ramrod straight, her hands folded in her lap. She looked out the window, and when the bus started moving, she watched with unseeing eyes as she rode past the alley where a girl named Buffy and a boy named Spike died.

***

_I remember saying to our Buffy once, "What are you prepared to give up?" She was getting ready to face Angelus, a battle that was gonna rock her world. She didn't know the answer then--has never really learned the answer, although she ended up getting pretty close when she faced Glory. But that's in the future, so let me get back to my point._

_That other Buffy found out that in the end, you're always by yourself. And she took that realization, and it made her into the Slayer. She became no different from the long line of girls before her. She bought into the Council's schtick, and you know how well that turned out for the Slayer._

_So what about our Buffy, you're asking? What did she learn from all this?_

_Well, nothing obvious. Because when she woke up, she didn't really remember anything. Nothing like memories of what happened, that is. But the feelings, the emotions? It's hard to say--I suppose she could remember that. Perhaps it took another trigger, like dying and being brought back to life, to make her accept those feelings, to finally understand what made the other Buffy into what she was. But for now, all she knows is that she passed out, and she's feeling a bit unsettled because she doesn't know why she passed out or what happened while she was unconscious, but otherwise, she's fine._

_A little gift from yours truly. You shouldn't know too much about where your choices might have taken you. It's hard enough to deal with the choices in your life, and the aftermath. You might think it's a copout, a waste of an opportunity. But if I were you, I wouldn't wish something like that on my worst enemy._

_So that's the end of this little adventure. I was glad to come back around and visit our Buffy. She's got something, I've got to say. She frustrates me and confuses me, but then, most humans do._

_But now it's time for me to turn out the lights and close the door behind me. Thanks for sharing this story. Perhaps I'll stop by again sometime, perhaps I won't. Perhaps this was a bunch of hooey and I'm just whistling Dixie. But perhaps, just perhaps . . . that's the way it happened._

_You might ask, so what's the point? The answer is, you find the point. You figure it out. Figure out what the big moment was, and see how Buffy reacted, and you'll see what I mean._

End.


End file.
